


We Could Have Had It All

by SheDragonOfTheWest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Femslash, Het, Multi, Rare Pairings, Slash, unrelated short stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheDragonOfTheWest/pseuds/SheDragonOfTheWest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated short stories about non-canon pairings (het, slash and femslash). Some died too early, others haven't met yet. By the way, I take suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robb Stark & Rhaenys Targaryen: Last Dance, First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I copied the wrong file. This is the correct story :) Sorry for the confusion!

Her shadow grows longer over the stony ground while the sun paints the horizon in orange tones. Her sword makes the air howl as it cuts through it, facing an imaginary rival. She stops for a moment to breathe and wipes a few drops of sweet with the back of her free hand. She cranes her neck, wiggles her shoulders slightly and goes back to her attacking stance. The lonely dance begins anew. Rhaenys snorts, groans with every stab, bounces from one side to the other with folded knees, ready to dodge and block nonexistent blows. She’s so focused on her game that she doesn’t notice that she has company.

“I think he’s already dead enough” someone jokes behind her.

She gives a start before turning and seeing Robb Stark, who looks pretty amused by the situation. The young princess smiles, eyes on her short boots as she lets her sword arm fall to her side.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asks.

“About half the combat” the young hostage laughs “Didn’t know you were so great with swords.”

“Thank you” she blushes “I’m not that good. I’ve seen you fighting in the yard; I think any of you could defeat me easily.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out” the Northerner unsheathes his sword and bows mockingly “Would you dance with me, my lady?”

Laughing, the princess accepts and gets ready to fight. Like a mirror, both assume their fencing position. At the count of three, the swords fill the place with their metallic melody. A clash of blades, one step back; a thrust to the side, the sword blocks it; faltering breaths, deafening heartbeats; a frustrated groan from her when she can’t reach him; a stifled chuckle from him when he blocks the blow; the blades meet again; a bounce…

Robb stops when he senses that his opponent is getting tired. He sheathes the sword and offers her a hand to stand back up. The girl half-smiles and smacks his side before accepting it.

“That’s not playing fair!” he protests, although his smile proves that he’s not serious.

“You’re too chivalrous, Stark” Rhaenys retorts. She puts the sword back in her belt and removes the ribbon she used to hold her hair back, setting her dark mane free.

It’s getting dark and the sky is now a shade of violet similar to the princess’s eyes. That reminds Robb of the real reason why he’s there. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Actually, I came looking for you. My father sent you. I’m afraid we’re taking too long.”

An angry whine tears the princess’s throat. Her playful expression suddenly tenses up.

“Yes, I know. I had almost forgotten” she murmurs. With a sigh of resignation, she offers her arm “Let’s go.”

They head together for the impressive Red Keep. Even though it has always been her home, suddenly Rhaenys finds it meancing, like a crimson giant made of stone rising against the crepuscular sky, wanting to destroy the harmony colors create. Robb watches her in silence. The frown invading her beautiful face, usually bubbly and mischievous, doesn’t go unnoticed to the young Stark.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asks, hoping to distract her from whatever is troubling her.

“Sometimes I practice on my own when I need to clear my mind” the girl explains “My mother wanted me to learn with you and a good master-at-arms, but my father thought it wasn’t right for a princess. My uncle Oberyn sometimes gives me some lessons when he visits. He got me this sword on my Nameday.”

“I see he’s taught you well” Robb comments “Beating you was harder than I thought.”

“Of course, did you think I’d make it easy for you, wolf cub?” the playfulness comes back to her voice. Her face, so similar to her mother’s, shines again like the Dornish sun.

The red-haired boy lets out a giggle, not offended by the nickname.

“Although, if you want some advice, I think you’re too forward. You start throwing blows right away without taking a moment to watch your opponent” he blushes slightly as he speaks. After all, she’s the king’s daughter, and he’s just her father’s hostage. However, seeing her interest, Robb swallows and goes on “Ser Willem always says anticipation is the key.”

“I understand” Rhaenys nods “I guess we’ll have to dance more often so that you can teach me some lessons” after the roguish look following her comment, she goes back to the dark, bitter tone “As long as I’m here, that is.”

Robb releases her all of a sudden, surprised by her words. His heart skips a beat.

“What do you mean?”

She stops on her way and sighs. Without looking at him, she toys with her hair, as she does whenever she’s worried about something.

“You haven’t heard, have you? I’ll probably have to go soon.”

A loud “No!” drowns in the Northerner’s throat. He and Rhaenys have been friends for ages. They grew up together in the Red Keep since king Rhaegar took him and other relatives of the main leaders of the revolution as hostages. She’s the closest thing to a sister he’s ever had, as he barely knows the two he has back in Winterfell; he can’t bear the idea of being separated from her.

“Go where?” he asks with a frown.

“You know the feast we’re having tonight?” she points to the Red Keep with her head “My father wants some guarantee of Tywin Lannister’s loyalty, so he’s going to betroth me to his son.”

This is when Robb is taken over by a feeling he barely knows, like a spark about to burn. Rage makes his heart race. He shakes his head.

“I heard my parents arguing about that a few days ago” the princess whispers “My mother disagrees. She thinks I should marry whoever I want, as my uncle Doran did.”

 _Look at us, Rhaegar_ , she remembers hearing her mother say. _An arranged marriage causes nothing but pain. Or do I need to remind you what happened at the Tournament in Harrenhal? Nothing has been the same between us after that…_

“But my father kept saying that it’s better to have Lord Tywin as a friend than as an enemy. My mother reminded him that his elder son was executed for killing my grandfather, but it was all in vain” the girl suppresses a frustrated whine “Besides, they say the heir to Casterly Rock is a drunken dwarf obsessed with whores.”

Instinctively, Robb clutches at his sword furiously. He doesn’t know to what extent the rumors about Tyrion Lannister are true, but imagining sweet Rhaenys in the hands of that monster makes him sick. However, that’s not what the girl needs to hear at that moment. He must comfort his friend, so he softens his face and allows himself to hold her hands.

“My parents didn’t know each other before they were betrothed” he tries to make his voice sound soothing “Even so, they learnt to love each other and be happy together. Maybe Lord Tywin’s son is a good man. Besides, they say Casterly Rock is a lovely place. You could have a good life there.”

She looks down at their intertwined hands for a moment. The torches that light the yard make her look younger, the same girl he used to play with, chasing her cat through the corridors of the Red Keep. Robb often can’t believe how long it has been since then. Rhaenys smiles sadly.

“Thank you. I’d like to believe that, but I don’t think I could be happier in any other place than here.”

Then she realizes that, deep down, she has always known: Although according to the Dornish laws she should be heiress to the throne, they’re not in the big southern kingdom. That means it’s her brother Aegon who will stay in King’s Landing for life, while she can’t possibly know where she will end up. Even so, Rhaenys always had the hope that her father would decide to marry her off to one of the hostages they took after the rebellion failed. Perhaps to the charming Renly, whose brothers were the lord of Storm’s End and the man who tried to take the throne from her father just to meet his down fall at the Trident. He seems to be more interested in decorating his clothes and armors than in learning to properly use a sword, but he is still very nice to have around. Or perhaps he’d marry her off to Theon Greyjoy, who came from the Iron Islands a few years later, when the Ironborn tried to rise against the crown; he’s handsome and a bit arrogant, and always seems to be laughing at some kind of joke only he can understand or trying to impress other girls with his talent for archery.

But most of all, her heart always hoped her family would choose her favorite: Robb Stark. It’s hard to believe that he’s a few years younger than her, for since their bodies began to change, she couldn’t see him as the boy who used to tease her and play in the gardens with her brother when they were children. The young wolf is now a grown man, a strong, handsome man. She’s fascinated by his copper waves of hair, and secretly blushes whenever he sees his naked torso while he trains during the hottest days. He also has that aura of solemnity all Northerners are said to have, but he always seems to smile in her presence. And, even though she has never admitted it to anyone, her inner dragon shoots blazes full of hate whenever her aunt Daenerys looks at him with those longing eyes.

Anxiety takes over her: What if the transaction is successful and her father marries her off to a Lannister? What if she never sees Robb again? The wolf’s response echoes somewhere in her ears, but her mind doesn’t process a single word. Then the sentence is interrupted when the princess catches his lips in an unexpected, feverish kiss.


	2. Cersei Lannister & Nymeria Sand: In The Heat of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always hot in Dorne... and heat makes women wear lighter clothes.

She opens her eyes with difficulty. Her head is pounding and her mouth is dry and thick. Slowly, light filters and she makes out the curtains, made of Dornish silk, and the mess of bedsheets. She feels dizzy just to smell the sweat and… Well, clearly the only thing that hasn’t been done in that bed is sleep. That explains why she’s completely naked. Everything is fine until she remembers that Jaime is in the Riverlands, and she…

Cersei starts recalling. She thinks of the voyage from King’s Landing to Sunspear. Some of her trusted knights, as well as new Small Council member Nymeria Sand, joined her on a trip to visit her daughter. Nymeria was supposed to help her, as she knows Dorne better than anyone, but it’s clear that fat Mace Tyrell just wanted to get rid of the two of them to start his regency with no conflict. She remembers arriving the morning before and how happy she was to spend the whole day with Myrcella. Her little girl is fine, and she’s turning into an amazing woman. Not even the scar has taken the slightest bit of her beauty or dignity. She smiles, thinking of her, her linen dresses and her laughter. She’d make a great queen if only they gave her the chance…

After a wonderful day, her hosts had organized a feast in her honor. There was a dance, music, lots of spicy food, sweets with honey and almonds… She shakes her head abruptly when the vision of her hand caressing a naked breast haunts her. A fountain. Wet clothes. Full lips approaching hers. A long, reddish tongue trailing along her thigh while those snake-like eyes gaze at her full of lust…

She has some memory lapses, but the pieces start to fit. She drank a lot during dinner, too much. She curses those stupid Southerners and their excellent wine. She knows she danced and chatted with many of the people there, but she can’t remember a single word. Nevertheless, she does remember that the sun was still shining during the feast. She went out to the gardens to freshen up. The climate was warmer than in King’s Landing, and everyone knows heat makes women wear lighter clothes. Actually, Nymeria herself was there, in a ridiculously tiny dress that left little to the imagination, soaking her face and neck. She thought it could be a good idea, so she followed suit. The cool water felt really good, so good that they both ended up somehow _in_ the fountain.

The Dornish woman stared at her shamelessly, but she was wasted enough not to care. She even allowed herself to notice the bastard girl more than she should. Her black, almond-like eyes, those huge nipples that could be perfectly made out through the wet fabric, her high and prominent cheekbones, her curvy yet slender figure… She reminded her of Taena, and she felt a wetness that had nothing to do with the water.

Whatever they talked about is just a fuzzy echo in her memory, but at some point she ended up stretching her arm to reach one of Nymeria’s large breasts. She squeezed it, as she did time before with her Myrish friend, and toyed with her nipple, pinching it and drawing circles with her fingertips. The other woman didn’t protest; in fact, she seemed to be enjoying it. The younger woman moved closer to her, boldly, and kissed her lips eagerly. The former queen’s first instinct was to slap her across the face, but she eventually gave in and returned the kiss.

Then they decided to take it to a more intimate place. The image of herself laughing hysterically about nothing on Lady Nym’s bed, a golden cup in her hand, comes to her mind. She also can easily picture the younger woman’s fully naked body, her long black braid covering one of her appetizing boobs, and a mop of hair just as dark between her legs. She remembers stroking over it and getting her fingers wet, savoring those big round nipples and biting that long, spear-like neck. She can almost hear the moans and curses with a rhoynar accent clearly.

However, unlike Taena, the snake ended up taking control. Without being able to defend herself, she found Nymeria on top of her, her hands travelling all over her body and making her shiver. There wasn’t a single part of her body she didn’t kiss: her neck, her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs… She bites her lip, forcing herself not to replay in her mind how the Dornish woman made her way between her legs and licked her most precious weapon, or how that viperish tongue made pleasure spiral up until it filled her whole body, or how her long and thin fingers entered that territory she would always save for Jaime…

“I see you’re awake, little lioness” a whisper brings her back to the present.

She frowns. She hates the way she speaks, almost purring… the same voice she used to use herself before becoming one with Jaime or whenever she tried to manipulate a man.

“Don’t call me like that” she groans “I’m still your queen.”

Nymeria simply smirks smugly and fixes her hair. It’s the first time she has ever seen her braid undone, and her well-rounded boobs stick out in a maze of long dark streaks. She sits on one side of the bed, her wicked snake eyes always fixed on her.

“What did I say to you last night?” her grin and her voice make it seem as though she found the situation enormously amusing “You might be a queen beyond these walls, but I’ll call you whatever I want in bed… my little lioness.”

Before she complains again about that annoying nickname, the Dornish woman slithers towards her and runs her fingers subtly along her arm and shoulder. The sunrays that come in through the curtains draw strange shapes on her white skin, and her face looks sharper, like her father’s used to be. Nym fucks her with her eyes and smacks her thick lips.

“It’s not breakfast time yet, but… how about a snack?”

A frustrated groan dies in her throat. Cersei hates this. She hates everything. She hates Dorne, the heat and the southern wine. She hates those stupid chambers and Lady Nym. She hates having that girl stare at her like a prey she’s about to devour once more, talk to her in that tone as though they were in one of the brothels Robert used to visit and touch her without permission. She hates her statuesque body, her graceful moves and her habit of walking around in her birthday suit most of the time. But she hates herself even more when she eventually says yes.


	3. Jon Connington & Aurane Waters: The Gost of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his exile in Essos, Jon Connington believes he has seen the ghost of someone he used to love.

****

_What is happening to me?_  
Crazy, some'd say  
Where is my friend when I need you most?  
Gone away  
  
But I won't cry for yesterday  
There's an ordinary world  
Somehow I have to find  
And as I try to make my way  
To the ordinary world  
I will learn to survive

(Duran Duran – “Ordinary World”

 

The persistent sea clashes against the rock son the shore. That was the same shore where he had birthed the boat he arrived in; the one in which he would leave a few days later. After all, the harbor is just a transit area.

For Connington, however, that’s the closest thing to a home he has had since he was exiled. He never stays anywhere for too long. His new friend doesn’t seem very different. Something tells him that he’s a pirate or a smuggler, but he doesn’t care. Neither does he care about his name. As long as he doesn’t know, he could be anyone… even a ghost.

He noticed him in a humble, sordid tavern. Among the loud, drunken Essosi with their guttural and weird languages, he set his eyes on that silver-haired stranger. His heart turned. Could it be…? No, the part of her conscience that hadn’t succumbed to that cheap wine told him. He’s dead. He died many years ago. Even so, he couldn’t resist the temptation to approach him.

As he had guessed, he was from Westeros. They hadn’t spoken about where he came from or what he was doing there. Not even about their old homeland. To be honest, Jon couldn’t even remember what their conversations had been about. Too much alcohol. All he could recall was his disappointment when he got closer and realized his eyes were green and not violet. Oh well, fortunately enough, all colors look the same in the dark…

And that’s how they ended up, running up those creaky wooden steps to the second floor. For a few coins, the old innkeeper had allowed them to stay in a tiny, damp room. It was perfect for what they needed anyway.

In the soft candlelight, the fantasies he had been forced to hide all his life came alive. His prince was there, as young as the last time they had seen each other, little before going to war against the Usurper. And he had him all to himself. There was no Dornish princess or young girl from the North standing between them. He had finally been able to steal the caresses he longed for and fill his perfect torso with kisses. A thousand times he had imagined what hid underneath those clothes adorned with the three-headed dragon; yet not even in his wildest dreams had he visualized so much beauty.

He kissed him. He kissed him countless times: On the lips, on the neck, on the thighs, on the chest… His moans were even more delightful than any melody he could have ever composed with his harp. He also pleased him sweetly with his mouth. He drank from him, savoring each moment. He loved him. He loved him with a passion not even the years or the shame of being found out could quench. The cold entering through the window with no glass and the filthy straw they slept in didn’t matter to him. That disgusting shack felt more like heaven than the richest chamber in the Red Keep.

Jon Connington awakes with the first light of day. The young man with platinum blond hair and sharp features is still resting in his arms. His eyes are closed, so no-one can tell if they’re green or violet; nevertheless, a lump forms in his throat. His mouth is burning and his head is hammering… If only he hadn’t drunk so much! But what hurts most is coming back to reality.

That boy is not Rhaegar, and he’s neither twenty nor back with his prince again. It’s been a long time since the beautiful son of the dragon died, and he has a mission of his own. He promised to take care of his child, and that’s what he will do. Protecting Rhaegar’s own flesh and blood is the closest thing he’ll ever be to the love of his life…


End file.
